


the long and winding road

by King_Yandere



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Master/Slave, Misunderstandings, No beta we fall like Crowley, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Past Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), Sexual Slavery, Slave Crowley, Slavery, Slow Burn, So Very Slow, Trauma, dubcon, he's not happy about it either, master aziraphale, recovery can be hard when you're in a perpetual fuck or die situation, specifically fuck or crowley dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24604591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Yandere/pseuds/King_Yandere
Summary: Once, there was an angel and a demon who might have become very good friends (and then some).  Before that could happen, there was a Flood and divine intervention of multiple kinds.Aziraphale had been both alone and lonely in the several thousand years since. He had never stopped wondering what happened to the red-headed and mischievous demon, but seeing a broken and kneeling Crawley at the feet of the Archangel Gabriel was worse than he had ever imagined.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 155





	1. Messages and Deliveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to my alternate account for fics that I don’t want to be associated with me. This is not my first Good Omens fic, but it is my first GO fic on this account and one of the few serious ones.
> 
> This chapter is very choppy, mainly because I’m trying to throw exposition at you without details. Which I know is some great storytelling sin, but whatever, sue me. The focus of this story isn’t uncovering a mystery or picking apart the plot. It’s about recovery and relationships, and I want that to be the focus. When the plot starts to be important, ya’ll will Know. Fight me on the fields of my forefathers if you have an issue with this.
> 
> Anyway, the point is: future chapters will be in a much more linear and straightforward format. Probably.
> 
> Also, and this is important, WARNINGS AT THE ENDNOTES.

The story started, as it would end, in a garden.

Specifically, the Garden of Eden.

An angel and a demon stood on a wall, side-by-side. Water dripped from the sides of a white wing that sheltered a figure draped in black. Yellow serpent eyes watched not a blond, blue-eyed angel dressed in white. The angel, meanwhile, was nervously observing Adam and Eve’s departure.

In the distance, someone watched them as well.

* * *

For centuries, philosophers have debated the question of Divine Intervention, posing questions such as “Does it actually exist?” and “Why won’t you help us, why won’t you save us, _how could you let this happen_ -!”

The answer, in the end, was simple. Free Will. God could, most assuredly, do whatever She wanted. But in the ineffable game of Her own devising, there was only one fairly solid rule that the dealer had to follow: no direct intervention with the players. 

No matter how much She wanted to, She could not command change without compromising the game.

* * *

The angel and demon met several more times throughout the years, hesitantly approaching a relationship that could be labeled as “Friends.”

Or “Friendly Acquaintances,” at the very least.

But before that relationship could be finalized, there was a flood, and there was a fight. The angel left, beholden to Heaven’s will, but the demon remained, determined to save as many children as possible, even if it meant going against The Great Plan.

The watching figures made their move, and the angel never saw the demon again. In the centuries to come, he grew tired, cynical and lonely, constantly giving more and more of himself to both Heaven and the humans until he thought there might be nothing left to give. He could not afford to be soft, for there is no one to protect him when he was, no flaming sword (nor red-headed demon) at his side.

But whenever he reached that level of emptiness, he remembered sly smiles and yellow eyes, and found that he still had a little bit more left inside. (Perhaps if he had given more back then, he would still have someone to call a friend.)

Somewhere far away and up a flight of stairs that will one day be an escalator, a demon slowly forgot white wings and blue eyes until only a twisted, mangled memory and buried feelings remained.

* * *

Gabriel, an archangel of great renown, was having a fairly normal day in Heaven. Reports and folders were spread across the see-through surface of his polished glass desk, and his pet was settled obediently between his legs. 

The angel hummed as he worked, flipping through files and signing documents with one hand while his other kept a firm grip on long red hair, tangling it between his fingers as he directed the demon’s motions. Several hours later, Gabriel set down the papers with a sigh, leaning back in his chair to watch the sight of his cock disappearing into his pet’s mouth.

There was no warning as he gripped the red hair in both hands, forcing the demon’s head up and down as he thrust down the other’s throat ruthlessly, ignoring the sounds of choking and cut off whimpers. 

With a final thrust and snap of his fingers, he forced the demon’s head all the way down and came deep inside the warm throat. The archangel grinned as slowly, his pet started to squirm, eyes fluttering and rolling as the slick throat tightened around his cock, his poor pet desperate to breathe but trying so hard to obey his master.

But before Gabriel could continue his fun, he was interrupted by a very panicked Sandalphon. Any interruption in and of itself was strange - the other angels had learned the hard way not to interrupt during private time with his plaything - but the fact that it was Sandalphon, of all angels, meant that it was serious business. 

The shorter angel gulped, straightening his suit and catching his breath before meeting confused purple eyes. “The Metatron has a message for you, Gabriel.”

“A message _for_ me? Um, _I’m_ the Messenger, not him. If that’s all, tell him I’ll be there when I’m done -”

“Gabriel. It’s a message _from Her._ ”

The archangel was up and out of his chair in moments, thoughtlessly shoving the demon to the floor in his haste. “I’ll head there immediately, then. Could you take care of the mess and watch it for me? It knows what to do, so feel free to have some fun.”

With that, Gabriel was off, not bothering to hear anything else Sandalphon had to say. He had places to be and a Message to hear. It had been near six thousand years since She last spoke to them, after all.

* * *

Part of being God meant that, occasionally, one could… bend… the rules. Especially for Her favored children. She could offer a suggestion, for example, or raise them from the dead after three days. That sort of thing. Sometimes, oftentimes, really, this suggestion is ignored, overlooked, or otherwise unheard.

When the suggestion is roared, full of rage, and with a chorus of thunder and thousands of voices combined, it is impossible to go unheard. And the Metatron, quite liking his job and not looking forward to the possibility of a steep Fall into sulfur, makes sure it is not overlooked.

* * *

Aziraphale had been having a fairly pleasant day.

He should have known that it wouldn’t last.

“Aziraphale! Buddy! How’ve you been?” The principality sighed, setting the book he had been about to reshelve back on the pile on his desk. He forced a grin on his face and turned, only for it to immediately falter.

It had been thousands of years, but he’d recognize that hair and those eyes anywhere. Kneeling by Gabriel’s feet, draped in chains, was Crawley.

The archangel followed Aziraphale’s shocked gaze, lighting up in pleased realization as he realized where the other angel was staring. “Surprise! We have a little gift for you, as thanks for roughing it out down here and doing Her work all these years.

Actually, it used to be your Adversary, didn’t it?” It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did, Aziraphale wanted to scream. Or cry. Or maybe vomit on Archangel Gabriel’s stupidly polished shoes and then run him through with the flaming sword that he no longer had.

Before he could act on any of those impulses, he noticed that Crawley had reacted to those words, just barely tilting his head up to see through the curtain of tangled hair. 

Aziraphale didn’t know how long he was lost in Crawley’s gaze, but at some point, he realized that Gabriel had never actually stopped talking. “It’s well trained, don’t worry about that. And now that you have full custody, you can do whatever you want with it. Even kill it, for all we care.”

Oh, what Aziraphale wouldn’t give for a flaming sword. Or even some Hellfire.

“There is just one catch - see those runes on its collar?” Aziraphale nodded, cracked smile fixed back on his face and thoughts of murder temporarily set aside. “Those keep it from trying to perform any miracles or other perverted abilities.”

Aziraphale refrained from commenting on the irony of that statement.

“They’ll also keep it alive unless you command otherwise, so there’s no need to hold back. Here’s the issue though: they require some juice to keep working, if you know what I mean.”

“No, Gabriel, I’m afraid I don’t.” 

“Ah, well, you know. The easiest thing to tie it to was, well… sex! You don’t have to sully yourself with it if you don’t want to - not that you have any issue with earthly pleasures, ey? - so long as it, ah, has and gives someone else an orgasm once a week, it’ll be fine. After that, the runes will activate and kill it for you. A defense measure in case it ever tried to escape, understand?”

What Aziraphale understood was that there were many ways to kill a human corporation and at least a solid two to kill an archangel. He wondered how many he could try before being stopped. Nevertheless, he nodded, smiled politely, and said “Of course, Gabriel.”

“Good, good! I know it might be gross, but it’s a pretty decent fuck if you want to give it a try. Or you could just let someone else have a go, doesn’t really matter. There are more details here -” he passed over a thick folder - “and if you have any questions, well we’re just a call away!”

Aziraphale would most assuredly not be calling.

The archangel prattled on some more, mentioning this and that and all manner of unspeakable things. There was some mention of fewer checkups, which was surely the only good news he’d heard since Gabriel had shown his obnoxious self. By the time the other was making his way out the door, Aziraphale’s fingers were clenched so tightly around the folder that they had turned white, and his smile surely looked like it belonged to a reflection in a jagged, shattered mirror.

As soon as the door shut, Aziraphale miracled the folder away to his desk and had turned around to face the still kneeling Crawley. He removed the heavy chains and shackles before speaking, stomach falling both at the red marks and bruises left behind along with the lack of retaliation or even acknowledgment from the demon.

He kneeled down several feet away, tossing the clunky metal to some corner until he had time to study the runes on them. The collar stayed on for the moment, if only because Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to safely remove it.

“Do you remember me, my dear?” The demon lifted his head, red hair falling away from his face as the heavy gaze settled on the angel. Slowly, he shook his head no.

What was left of Aziraphale’s fragile heart broke a little more.

“Ah, well, no matter then.” He cleared his throat, suddenly wishing he’d had the chance to get some water before this. Or at least a minute to process… everything. “My name is Aziraphale. What would you like me to call you?”

Are you still Crawley?, Aziraphale wanted to ask. Does anything remain of you, the you that I knew?

The demon hung his head, clasping his hands behind his back and shifting into a kneeling bow. “I am whatever you want me to be, Master.”

The angel cleared his throat, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. “I want you to be yourself, my dear. Does… does Crawley still work, or...?”

If Aziraphale had been able to see the demon’s eyes, he’d have watched how they widened, how the yellow receded just until it was contained by the iris once again. The demon spoke slowly, carefully in response, testing as it always had and always would. 

“I prefer Crowley, Master.”

“Crowley it is, then.”

The demon did not react beyond a nod, but Aziraphale felt strangely relieved anyway. He didn’t know what would happen from here, or how he would help this being who had once (and maybe could be again) his long-lost friend.

What he did know was that Crawley, now Crowley was _here_ , alive if not well, and that, faced with the choice between a beaten-down demon and the archangels of Heaven, there wasn’t much of a choice left at all. Aziraphale would help free him, or Fall trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: slightly graphic rape/noncon - it’s a blowjob btw, discussion of noncon, dubcon, slavery (fucking obviously), sexual content, etc. Also, the mandatory statement that slavery is terrible and should not be romanticized and etc. This is fiction, so please shut up and carry on.
> 
> AN: This is inspired by the many slave AUs and dark b/d fics I’ve stumbled across in this fandom so far, but I will admit that the one I drew the most inspiration from was likely “That hopeful feeling” by oceantears and…. That other one where Hell wins and takes the angels as slaves and Aziraphale loses his memory and Crowley finds him some years later. I’m looking for the title of it. As such, those of you who have read those fics may notice some similarities here and there, especially in the beginning. I promise we’re veering into very different, very uncharted territory very quickly.
> 
> For those who haven’t read them, go on, shoo, read something not written in the early hours of the morning by someone with a migraine. But maybe leave a comment and a kudos first? (Please, the author craves for validation.)
> 
> Edit: the other fic is Who You Are by ImaginAria, big thanks to the guest who pointed this out <3


	2. Three Rules and a Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a demon (not to be referred to as slave) to get settled in, just as long as he can withhold the oncoming panic attack until afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, trying to write serious shit:  
> My natural predilection for humor and sarcasm: I’m gonna fuck shit up
> 
> Oh, and I know that this fic has been compared to Repossession, which I have two things to say about. 1) If this fic is a quarter as good, I would be honored and thrilled beyond belief. 2) It’s hilarious to me because I barely made it through that fic due to the emotional intensity and yet I’m writing something that apparently has similar vibes. 
> 
> WARNINGS AT THE END but ya’ll should get the idea pretty quick of how this fic is going

Aziraphale was so far out of his depth that he might as well be in the Marianas Trench. 

Slavery wasn’t new to him, unfortunately. He had been alive for 6000 years, after all, and had been forced to own slaves for different covers over time. (If “owned” was considered immediately freeing and smuggling out of the country at the soonest possible opportunity, that is.)

But he had certainly never been forced to “own” someone under such… _conditions_ … let alone Craw - _Crowley_. Had the archangels had him this whole time? 

He had scoured every inch of the earth, even risked speaking with Hell, but had never found any sign of the demon. He had resigned himself to thinking that Crowley was dead, killed by Holy Water or a smiting until no trace of him remained.

He’d never even considered Heaven.

More the fool, he. 

Unfortunately, Aziraphale didn’t have time to be trapped in an internal monologue and spiral of self-deprecation just yet. For one, his knees and back were beginning to cramp _dreadfully_. For two, he was currently faced with the naked and kneeling demonic form of his ex-friend. 

The angel stood carefully, internally wincing at the stiffness of his bad leg as he stood. “I’m sorry my dear, but I’m afraid that I am woefully unprepared for your… presence.” The demon stiffened slightly at his words, a just barely noticeable lowering of his head and tightening of the far too thin and bony shoulders.

“Not that it’s your fault, of course, dear boy. I’m not upset with you at all…” If he mumbled something derogatory about Gabriel as he trailed off in thought, well, he was certain Crowley wouldn’t tell. 

“In any case - you’ll be needing clothes and a room of your own, to start.” Aziraphale continued thinking out loud, more for his benefit than Crowley’s. “There is a bedroom in the upstairs flat that I never use if that would be acceptable…?” 

The redhead kept his head bowed as he spoke, a creeping edge of anxiety entering his otherwise monotone voice. “Whatever pleases you, Master. I am unworthy of such privileges.”

If it was at all appropriate, Aziraphale would have started crying on the spot. Or perhaps screaming. Or marched right up to Heaven and given Gabriel a piece of his mind (and the edge of a blade).

“You’re worthy of much more, my dear.” The angel sighed, snapping to summon a simple but comfortable outfit of grey sweats, a black t-shirt, and pants[i] for the demon, all miraculously the right size. “I’m afraid nothing I have here will fit you, so these will have to do for now. Please, stand and dress. Would you like any assistance?”

Crowley looked up from the floor hesitantly, a brief expression of surprise followed by relief flitting across his face at the sight of the clothes. Most of the time, when previous Masters had offered him outfits, well. They had been humiliating and uncomfortable to say the least.

He rose carefully, wobbling slightly as he stood. “I am capable of dressing on my own, Master. If you desire to help, then that is your right…”

Based on his expression, Aziraphale rather thought that the demon had a much different idea of “assistance” than what the angel had meant. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” With that he handed the clothes over, watching yellow eyes blink as though surprised before nodding gratefully. 

The angel’s stomach dropped again as Crowley straightened, revealing bruised and chafed skin crossed with different types of scars. The demon’s ribs and collarbones were far too prominent. He looked fragile, like the angel could reach out and snap his wrist without thought or effort. The angel hadn’t seen anyone in such a state since the second world war.   
  


He had rather hoped it would stay that way.

Determined not to react, Aziraphale looked away as the demon dressed, pointedly not allowing himself to focus on the scars nor the more… aesthetically pleasing aspects of the other being. He had always secretly considered Crowley to be rather gorgeous, and his injuries in no way detracted from that. But even so, it was hardly appropriate considering the circumstances. Which he absolutely refused to consider in further depth at the moment.

One thing at a time. Buck up, angel.

“I’m dressed, Master.”

Aziraphale jerked out of thought, returning his gaze towards Crowley only to find the demon kneeling once more, though at least fully clothed this time. “Thank you, my dear, though there is no need to kneel. If you would stand and follow me, I will show you to your new room.”

The demon shifted, biting his lip nervously as he twitched as though to stand before aborting the movement. “I… apologies, Master. Master Gabriel said I am not allowed to walk, that it was decreed so after the Garden. Would… I would be most obligated if you permitted me to crawl, Master.”

Cursing would not help this situation and would assuredly give Crowley the wrong idea. Even so, the unfamiliar words burned on the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue. Damnit, Gabriel. Fucking hell.

Sighing, Aziraphale lowered himself to the floor once more, unable to prevent himself from cringing this time as pain flared from his knee to the rest of his leg. His injury really was beginning to get much worse. “I’m afraid I don’t know of any such commandments and find myself highly doubting their authority. Would you be so kind as to explain, my dear?”

Crowley nodded quickly, but Aziraphale saw the tremble in his clasped hands and heard the shakiness in the demon’s voice. The poor dear was terrified, and Aziraphale was at least part of the cause. 

“Master Gabriel said that it was the Lord’s command as punishment for tempting Eve, Master. He said that on my belly I shall go and only dust shall I eat. However, I have been permitted to crawl on my hands and knees when squirming takes too long. I apologize for being so presumptuous as to believe that I could do so here.”

“My dear boy, that’s a load of tosh and Gabriel deserves to be plucked like a chicken.” The angel immediately clamped his mouth shut, but the sentence was out. Well done, Aziraphale. That would surely help the situation.

To his surprise, the derisive comment didn’t seem to have upset his new guest at all. There were still obvious signs of fear and confusion, but the demon’s mouth carried just the faintest hint of a smile. It was a pale shadow of the ones from his memories, but Aziraphale would have done anything to keep it on the demon’s face. Even if it did mean comparing his superiors to common poultry. 

“I’m not sure what all Gabriel has told you, my dear, but it must be fairly obvious that we… disagree… on some matters. Tomorrow we will discuss expectations and future plans more clearly, but for today I think we both just need some rest. However, two rules will always be true.”

Crowley nodded slowly. His yellow eyes were peering out from behind the curtain of red hair, and Aziraphale hadn’t realized quite how much he’d missed them and their intensity. “The first rule is this: you are always permitted to walk. Whatever Gabriel got into his head from long-dead scholars holds no ruling here, and if he’d like to argue Biblical schematics with me, well, he’s free to try.

The second rule is also simple: you are allowed to use anything the same as I. Equipment, furniture, clothes - all are available to you, whenever and however you desire. Though I would appreciate you not using my books for kindling, for example.”

Some of the tension seeped out of the demon’s shoulders as he nodded once more in understanding. Aziraphale barely withheld a sigh of relief. Two hurdles crossed, only a million more to discover along the way.

“Excellent. Now then, shall we?” Aziraphale stumbled as he made to stand, his blasted knee finally giving out in protest over the day’s abuse. The only thing that saved him from a rather embarrassing fall was the sudden press of cold hand against his arms. It took the angel several moments to realize that Crowley had shot up to catch him and, judging by the demon’s expression, he wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by this outcome.

The demon quickly retreated as soon as Aziraphale was stable, but the angel couldn’t blame him. Based on the awkward shuffling of feet and the sudden fear in his serpentine eyes, Aziraphale figured that Crowley’s previous experiences with touching angels were not strictly pleasant. He could only imagine what Gabriel would say over being “contaminated” by a demon, regardless of whether or not that "contamination" saved him from a rather painful faceplant.

Luckily for all involved, Aziraphale was very much _not_ Gabriel. “Thank you, my dear.” He smiled as Crowley stilled in surprise, simply staring at him from where he stood. “I doubt that would have been a pleasant experience. This corporation just isn’t holding up like it used to, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, Master.”

The words were hesitant and tainted with confusion, but some of the fear had receded from Crowley’s lovely eyes. Aziraphale would consider that a success.

He led his former friend through the house quickly, gesturing towards different rooms and favored book sections on the way to the staircase… which was also covered by novels and tomes of all kinds. Right.

“Mind how you go, dear boy. It seems my collection has spilled a bit further from the shelves than intended.” The hint of upturned lips disappeared again as soon as it appeared, but Aziraphale felt himself smile in return regardless. 

Maneuvering up the staircases without causing a small natural disaster or using miracles was more effort than Aziraphale would typically prefer, but what else should he have expected, considering the day he was having. Even his own bookshop was turning against him now.

The so-called living area and hallway were hardly better, covered as they were by dust and novels alike. “Oh, bugger this.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, clearing the path of books and the evidence of past decades without a duster. He made sure to take care of the spare bedroom as well, miracling any stacks of books to his backroom and ensuring the space would be both clean and furnished.

If Gabriel was to have a problem with frivolous miracles, then Gabriel should not have dropped by unannounced and given him a _slave_.

That taken care of, Aziraphale walked towards the room, opening the door and beckoning the demon inside. Crowley moved forward as a man headed towards the gallows rather than a bedroom, and Aziraphale did not let himself wonder why that might be. There would be time for such thoughts later.

A gasp drew his eyes to Crowley as the demon took in the large bed and scattered furniture, several wardrobes and a desk that had apparently made the room their home without Aziraphale realizing.

“This room hasn’t received much use since I bought the building near two centuries ago, so I’m afraid it might not be in tip-top condition. Please do let me know if there is anything that needs taking care of.” He rather doubted that Crowley would, but it didn’t hurt to offer. 

Crowley nodded, shuffling towards the bed before turning towards the angel. He opened his mouth as though to speak before closing it, lowering his gaze to the ground and returning both hands to behind his back in submission.

“I’d like to add a third rule now if that’s alright with you.” The demon nodded hurriedly, back straightening even as resignation settled across his face. “Thank you for your patience, my dear. This one may be harder to follow than the other, but it very important.” Another nod.

“If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me immediately. Even if I’m in the middle of something else. Whether it’s over something you would consider an emergency or not. If you have a question, I would like to hear it.”

The redhead’s eyes were remarkably wide in surprise, and for a moment Aziraphale was back on the wall of Eden, with a mischievous presence to his left asking as to the whereabouts of his flaming sword. And then the moment was gone, leaving only a tired angel and awkward demon behind.

“Thank you, Master. That is most generous of you.” Crowley’s eyes glanced towards the bed and back to him before the demon swallowed nervously, steeling himself to speak. “Are you joining me, Master…?”

Biting back the reflexive response of ‘Certainly not!’, Aziraphale took a deep breath and forced back the desire to flee out the door. “I have never been fond of sleep, and I’m not much one for such… activities. Especially with less than consenting partners. Is your collar…?” The angel gestured rather helplessly as Crowley relaxed slightly.

“The collar is fine, Master. I have seven days before it needs to be reset. I thank you for your consideration towards someone so unworthy.”

Good Lord. That would mean that today, someone had…

Aziraphale really was going to be sick.

“Your worth is far greater than you’ve been told, dear. Though in that case, I’ll take my leave. I’ll be just downstairs if you need me. Goodnight, Crowley.” With that, he whisked away, barely giving a brief wave as the door slammed shut behind him far harder than the angel intended.

He was in desperate need of a moment. And possibly a bucket.

* * *

[i] ie: boxers, underwear, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: discussion of past rape, dubcon, slavery, etc. No actual shenanigans of nefarious happenings occur in this chapter.
> 
> This chapter has been rewritten as many times as can be fit into two days. So many outtakes… but hey that just means fuel for later chapters. I did admittedly get distracted picking up a shiny new minor at my university - oceanography this time!!!! (Please help me stop adding on minors)
> 
> Me: why did we decide to write this from Aziraphale POV when we know that Crowley is much easier for us  
> Me @ me: you wrote ten pages of Crowley POV and then scrapped them because of too-fast development and angst purposes  
> Me: oh yeah
> 
> Fic recommendation of the chapter: Dark Angels, Golden Serpents by KiaraMGrey. It's a human mafia AU with rival gang member!Crowley and mob boss!Aziraphale. It's good shit. Go read it.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr @ineffable-gamemaster because I have THOUGHTS about our boys and this story and wanna talk about them
> 
> Comments and kudos remind me that this account exists and hunt down Gabriel to smack him in the face with the “Buggre All This” Bible


	3. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long day, and Crowley and Aziraphale would both very much just like to rest. Unfortunately, they have some thoughts to work through first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back to another installment of the only story I’ve ever written out plot points for. (Though the chapter summaries continue to be written only after the chapter is done.)
> 
> Some of you - approximately six of you - may know the identity of my other account now due to me being an idiot. To you I say: ssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. 
> 
> The next update might take a couple of weeks again cause I have some medical procedures coming up. Hopefully, they’ll go well, cause…. Well. I’ve been really sick for a while now, and this is round number God-only-knows of tests. Hopefully, we’ll figure out what’s wrong and fix it soon. Also, just saying, I’m fine with people picking up my stories and adapting them or creating something based on them, though please credit if you do. <3
> 
> WARNINGS at the endnotes

Crowley flinched back as the door slammed shut. 

The demon froze, yellow eyes glaring distrustfully at the firmly closed and motionless door. What was that about…? Had he somehow angered his Master?

The minutes slowly passed by in silence. Bit by bit, Crowley’s shoulders relaxed, and the demon stood a little straighter. By the time the long hand on the clock hanging from the wall had finished half a rotation, the demon was mostly certain that his Master wouldn’t be returning soon.

He looked around cautiously, running his fingertips across the polished surface of the wooden desk, pressing his palm against the pane of the window and feeling the cold seeping in from outside. The carpet was soft and slightly scratchy against his feet and the drawers of the wardrobe didn’t so much as squeak when they opened.

It had been millennia since he’d been on Earth, nearly five thousand years since he had seen anything but the endless white and grey of Heaven. Each wall and floor perfectly smooth with exact corners. Each piece of cloth was smooth as silk, the temperature everywhere an exact 21℃/70℉, window or not. 

His Master’s bookshop couldn’t be more different. 

And neither could his Master.

Crowley sat down on the bed cautiously, keeping an eye on the door just in case this turned out to be a trap. It would hardly be the first time one of the angels had ordered him to do something only to punish him for it later.

He shuffled the pillows to where the bed pressed against the corner of the room, setting them against the headboard and wall before settling in and tugging up the blankets. At least this way, his back was protected and he’d have some warning when his Master entered.

The door stayed closed. 

No footsteps echoed from the hallway, no floorboards creaked. Slowly, Crowley relaxed back into his cloth nest, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping thin arms around himself. There was no point in staying vigilant all night; if his master wanted to punish him, then he would. He would take this chance to relax for as long as he could cling to it.

But part of him wondered whether he’d really be punished for this at all.

Certainly, any of his previous masters, and especially Master Gabriel, would have beaten him half to death if he sat on their furniture. (He had tried some in the beginning. He knew better now. They only allowed him on a bed or chair when they wanted to be comfortable while they used him-)

Master Aziraphale seemed very different from Master Gabriel.

The archangels had spoken of his new master, but they’d never had anything nice to say. Master Gabriel would almost always be furious after his meetings with the Principality and Crowley would be made to pay the price.

(He didn’t blame Master Aziraphale. If Crowley could, the things he’d do -)

The human-shaped serpent shuffled lower, tugging more of the blankets up as he shivered in the warm room. Black nail scratched against the tartan pattern of the fabric. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. A corner of Crowley’s mouth tugged into a grin.

He couldn’t imagine Master Gabriel ever wearing tartan. 

The past 24 hours had been the strangest and most eventful Crowley had experienced in quite some time. Sandalphon’s interruption during Master Gabriel’s work hours had been terrifying, a feeling which only worsened when the archangel revealed _why_ he had been sent. To think, the Almighty breaking a near six thousand year silence.

And all for him.

Crowley was clever. After all, he had needed to be to survive this long. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.

Sandalphon tells his Master that the Lord wants to speak with him. Master Gabriel returns nearly two hours later, face paler than he’d ever seen and with tremors still racking his fingers and hands. Immediately, an order was put out that he was not to be touched. That he would no longer be the shared slave of Master Gabriel and Heaven, but be _transferred_ to the _private service_ of Master Aziraphale.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

The only question was why.

He had assumed that this would be some further punishment, something designed to break what little pieces of him still clung on and remained. Instead, he had the best day in thousands of years. 

No one punished him at all today. He wasn’t even mocked. Master Aziraphale had given him clothes and a room. He’d told Crowley to ask _questions_.

Angels never liked questions. He knew that very well.

Yet when he had, Master Aziraphale had simply answered and left without so much as a threat. It didn’t make any sense, but Crowley would take what he could get. There was something… familiar… about the Principality. Something that caused a headache to pound behind his eyes when he thought about it.

The demon sighed, letting his head flop back onto the soft pillows as his long red hair splayed out like a fiery halo. There wasn’t any point in wondering. Questions only ever caused problems and angels couldn't be trusted. 

It would only hurt so much worse when these things were taken away from him, too. He hadn’t had anything to lose before.

(He’d already lost -)

Crowley closed his eyes and fell into Morpheus’ gentle arms.

* * *

Aziraphale, a floor below the sleeping Crowley, was currently worshipping the porcelain god.

In other words, he was vomiting into the toilet.

The angel slumped against the wall of the small customer bathroom that hadn’t seen service in nearly four decades.[i] This was hardly how he had planned to spend the night. What a day.

What a terrible, terrible day.

He sighed, cleaning up with a snap of his fingers and summoning up a bottle of mouthwash with another. Miracles just couldn’t do some things as well as human inventions, and removing the acidic taste in his mouth was one of them.

Three swishes of some unholy neon blue liquid later and Aziraphale swore he could feel the burn to his very ethereal essence.

Good.

The mouthwash was left by the sink - he had a feeling it would be used again someday soon - and the angel wandered into his backroom, picking up a (tartan, of course) blanket and curling up on the sofa, cocoa in his favorite white-winged cup nestled between his hands and an Oscar Wilde book by his side. Even so, his head was much too full of tangled, rushing thoughts to read.

In the end, everything came down to one thing. One person.

Crowley.

Crowley, who had shorter hair and a different name last they had met. Crowley, the demon who was always there with a sharp word and soft grin, who had stayed behind to try and save innocent children from God’s wrath while Aziraphale fled like the coward he was.

Had the demon succeeded? Were there descendants out there of the children Crowley had saved? Or had Heaven stolen him away as soon as Aziraphale’s back was turned, killing his friend and damning countless others in one fell swoop? Had the angel stayed, could all of this been avoided?

(Was it his fault, the rotten fate his friend had been dealt?)

Aziraphale blew on the steaming drink, staring down into in the way of many lost souls and students during finals week, searching for answers it just didn’t have. There was no point in 

asking any of his questions - he had far too many, and they would never be answered, anyway.

All he could do now was move forward, so that was what would be done.

Crowley would need him to be stable, to be strong. Recovering from the tortures of Heaven would be difficult, possibly impossible. But he couldn’t let the demon down. Not this time.

Even so, he didn’t want to even think about the end of the week.

Sighing, the angel snapped his fingers again[ii], wincing at the stacks of folders and flip-phone which appeared on the other end of the sofa. Gabriel had been vague at best in his explanations, and, well, Aziraphale was far too used to tuning him out. If he wanted to understand what had been done to Crowley, there was only one way to find out. 

Research.

First, though, he had a call to make.

* * *

[i] Though it was, of course, impeccably clean and functioning. He had standards, after all.

[ii] He dared Gabriel to send him a memo about frivolous miracles. He _dared_ him to.

Come say hi on Tumblr! @[ineffable-gamemaster](https://ineffable-gamemaster.tumblr.com/post/620420728879202304/new-in-town)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: vague mentions of implied rape and implied torture and slavery etc.
> 
> It’s Crowley, y’all. King of Going Too fast and loving Aziraphale. He’s not even approaching recovery yet, but he’s clinging to that blooming Hope. It's definitely not my best work and a little bit of a filler chapter, but their current/starting perspectives are both very important. As such, you're being spoiled with some internal monologues. Also, I wanted to get this out before my doctor visit.
> 
> Recommended work of the chapter: Siren's Song by Kedreeva, featuring siren!Crowley and pirate!Aziraphale + crew and a cat. So good. One of my forever favorites.
> 
> Kudos and Comments motivate the validation-craving author and make cocoa for Aziraphale and Crowley. Who do you think Aziraphale called?


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